


Hot as a fever. Rattling bones. I could just taste it.

by ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis (Original_Cypher)



Series: Headcanons [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam has a thing.<br/>That thing he likes even if they don't mention it. And Zayn? He'll get him to enjoy it. Even if he has to push.<br/>Because pushing can be a whole lotta fun, too. And if there's one thing Zayn Malik has mastered over the years, it's being a tease.<br/>Time to reap the benefits...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot as a fever. Rattling bones. I could just taste it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: Sex On Fire, by Kings Of Leon

_“Some come on, get higher, loosen my lips. Faith and desire and the swing of your hips. Just pull me down hard. And drown me, drown me in love._

_It's all wrong, it's so right. So, come on and get higher._

_Cause everything works, love. Everything works in your arms.”_

Come On Get Higher, Matt Nathanson

 

*

*    *

 

Liam's shape under the covers stands out in the faint glow of the screen of Zayn's phone. Zayn slips in and his body instinctively seeks out Liam's. The contented sigh that escapes him speaks of finally coming home. Even though this is an unknown bed in a nameless hotel in yet another city, right there, is Liam. With him, Zayn doesn't sleep to dream of better places. He rests, because he feels safe and cared for. Because the place doesn't matter.

Liam licks his lips, huffing out a tiny sigh and turns his head towards him, eyes closed but hand seeking until Zayn's own meets it. “Clubbing with Lou fun?” Liam mumbles.

“Hm.” Zayn pushes closer, nosing against Liam's shoulder. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“...want you to. Always.” Liam slurs, squeezing his hand, and purses his lips in the darkness, asking for his goodnight kiss. With a fond head shake and a smile, Zayn leans over and complies. Truthfully, even when he feels bad for disturbing Liam's hard earned slumber, he's never one to turn down a smooch. When he slumps back, Liam shuffles around and tugs on Zayn's hand until they arrange themselves properly. Their legs slot together easily, Zayn's hand splaying across Liam's stomach. He takes an indulgent moment to graze the knobs of Liam's spine and his hairline with his lips and nose. “Tell me.” Liam nudges, catching his fingers in his own.

Tell him? Oh. Louis. “We ended up in a coffee shop, after all. Felt like quiet,” he whispers against Liam's skin. “Awesome pastries. Grabbed some banana bread for breaky.”

“Hm.” Liam's fingertips stroke the back of Zayn's hand. Then he stills and reaches back, twisting his other arm around himself awkwardly to feel up Zayn's side. He grazes Zayn's bare armpit. He makes an inquiring sound. “... this new.”

“Hm.” Zayn presses a kiss to his neck. “Just showered.”

Nothing comes next, and Zayn thinks that Liam's gone back to sleep. But his slow and peaceful breathing suddenly hitches like he's fighting it. “... why?”

Zayn makes a soothing nose, snuggling closer. “You know why.”

“... _Zayn_...” Liam's tiny whine comes with a delay.

“Shh... Babe. Sleep.”

*

*    *

 

After show moments are always _fucks_. They're not romantic, or tender, or involve taking one's time. They're wild bursts of post stage energy while they're hyper and sweaty and so horny they get reckless. With hours of semi jokingly serenading each other on stage, teasing each other with looks and whispered promises of activities to come, they usually do a good job of rilling each other up for a hungry, desperate collide behind the scenes. Not that Harry and Louis aren't almost as bad. It's a wonder how Niall can stand them, sometimes.

Liam almost overbalances, and in his mad scramble to hold them both up, they tip over a clothing rack. To be fair, Zayn's made goddamn sure Liam would be half way out of his mind by the time he shoved him into the changing room and twisted the lock so hard he thought he might rip it out. From his choice of a sliced tank top showing skin down to his waist, to his shameless stretching and hinting all through the show... he wasn't expecting any less than Liam grabbing him by the hips and shoving him against the wall.

Liam loves to pretend he is annoyed with Zayn for pushing his buttons. It would almost be convincing, too, if not for the filthy string of curse words and praise he hisses against Zayn's lips as he literally tears his top off him. The ripping noise makes Zayn bite his lower lip, and Liam abandons snogging him with a huff and goes on to mouth at his neck. They know not to leave marks there, but damn, with Liam so hungry and barely in control, Zayn is half expecting a bite. He _craves_ it.

Liam moans when Zayn's hand fists in his hair and tugs at his scalp the way he likes, and his tongue is a hot swipe against Zayn's collarbone **,** tasting the sweat there. Zayn makes a frustrated noise, pushing Liam's shirt up and Liam steps back just long enough to allow the garment to be discarded, then his mouth is back on Zayn, sucking, licking, laving every inch of skin available, lapping away at the salt, the flavor of fresh exertion. Hurried fingers fumble at belt loops and buttons, and soon enough Liam wraps them both in a tight grip without preamble. They're both already hard, and have been leaking steadily since the last group bow on stage, when Zayn hooked his elbow around Liam's neck and squeezed him to his side with intent, and Liam almost tripped and fell onto one knee with the sudden rush of heat.

Zayn throws his head back with a hiccuped yelp. They're panting, lips parted and eyes unfocused already. Liam's hand falls on the slope of Zayn's neck, pets here absently before he dips in to press their mouths together, hips stuttering forward into his own grip. It's more of a sloppy tangle of tongues, moans and nips than an actual kiss, but it's so, _so_ good. Zayn's close already, but this isn't what he did all of this work for. Tonight had a point. To break Liam. To make him give in to himself.

He whines and bites at Liam's lower lip. The answering groan is barely human, which is exactly what Zayn has been angling for. Bringing up the most satisfying and fulfilling urges to the surface. He tilts his head back, smirking knowingly when Liam latches onto his neck again. With the hand still tangled in his short mane, Zayn tugs, giving little noises that fall between encouragement and pleading. “Zayn...” Liam whines. He knows exactly what Zayn is doing. Of course he does. That's half the fun of it.

“C'mon, babe. _C'mon_ , do it.” Zayn's words melt into a cry when Liam closes his lips on a nipple, sucks and teases the sensitive area with the tip of his tongue at the same time. All the while, Liam maintains a teasing rhythm around their cocks. He growls when Zayn's nails rake up his back. “You want to, c'mon.” Liam hiccups, jerks away and falls into Zayn's chest. His face lays pressed there, cheek against Zayn's hammering heart, while he breathes him in heavily with a deep, conflicted frown on his face. “You _want_ it,” Zayn stresses, pulling at Liam's hair until he whimpers. “ _Take_ it.”

Liam's face twists, and he turns to press his forehead against Zayn's chest, breaths shallow and high puffing on Zayn's nipple. “S'weird.”

“Who gives a fuck, Lee?!” Zayn barks out, straining to stay coherent through the steady waves of pleasure that hit him. He pants, rocks against Liam inside the tight squeeze, breath itching when callouses meet his sensitive head. His next attempt comes out garbled whimper, and he has to start again, steadying himself with a hand on Liam's shoulder. “Who gives a shit, Love? Do you?!” he gasps. “Cause I fucking don't, babe, I- mother _fuh_ -...! Your hand! Nngh... Leeyum, _please_.”

This isn't how Zayn imagined it. Having the power to make Liam break didn't really picture in his mind's eye as being so close to losing it and _begging_. But there he is, though. And there's the result. Liam gives in with a snarl. He turns his face violently and his stubble rasps  against the skin of Zayn's armpit. Liam stays, pressed in hard and breathing in noisily as a visible shudder runs through his entire body.

Zayn fights not to do anything, holding onto Liam's hair for dear life, while Liam wars with himself. It's not like Zayn doesn't feel hot with a mix of arousal and embarrassment himself. Social norms state that being sweaty is gross and that politeness dictates to eliminate the factor before touching or even coming close to people. But the truth is, fresh sweat that isn't acrid from having dried hours ago smells fucking hot. And if Liam weren't so aggressively dominant right now, Zayn would probably be mouthing at the curve being his ear and licking the salt off there because it feels so goddamn good and sexy to do so. And some parts of the body are considered weird and more taboo in sex, but what does it matter? Who cares when it's just them and it works and they both _like it_.

With a hoarse moan, Liam's composure finishes breaking, and before Zayn understands what's happening, tight fingers are encircling his wrist and slamming it to the wall next to his head. His gasp of surprise dies out in his throat when Liam starts nuzzling down his side, lips brushing over the thin, responsive skin that's pulled taught over his ribs. He feels exposed, stretched out like this. Liam's feather light kisses are almost ticklish, and at the same time, they're the complete opposite of it. The counterpoint with his fumbled, unsteady but firm strokes is maddening, and Zayn digs his fingers in Liam's muscle hard, trying to stave off the feeling building into his bones. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Liam_.”

Liam moans, shivers against him and then he _licks_. No matter how fever crazy Zayn feels, the flat of the tongue against his side is scalding, as it drags, long, steady and slow. Liam is torturing them both. Every bit of movement upwards pushes more air out of Zayn's lungs, leaving him gaping, eyes wide and unfocused, head thrown back. Liam's nails dig into his skin when he reaches Zayn's armpit, and air crashes back in. Zayn pants, then, heaves shallow, shocked breaths that come with frantic, kittenish noises. Liam is hard as a rock, hips stuttering, and they're so close. So close. Squeezing his eyes shut against his swimming vision, Zayn blindly relocates his grip to find purchase in Liam's hair again. Liam shouts, curses up a storm and starts pumping his wrist frantically, mouthing and licking at Zayn's skin ravenously.

The edge is so intense that Zayn almost wants to jerk out of Liam's hand, it's _too much_. But then Liam moans into his skin and comes shuddering, coating them both, adding sleek and Zayn is _gone_. He bites his lip and goes taught, back arching like a bow, following the way Liam has him stretched out already, and he spills into Liam's gentler strokes, panting through whispered words of love and praise.

Next, the room is silent safe for the sound of their breathing. They don't move. Liam breathes hard against Zayn's side, forehead pressed onto the inside of Zayn's arm, sighing softly as fingers card through his hair. The world is spinning, the lights hazy and every inch of skin feels alight and raw.

Liam lets go of his arm, but Zayn doesn't lower it until he's trailed kisses from his armpit, across his chest, up to his neck. Only then does he bring it down, loops it gently around Liam's neck in a loose hug, a loose hold, a stoned cuddle. “God, that was hot,” he mumbles.

Liam nips at his jaw, then brushes a kiss there to soothe the sting. “Really?” he asks, belatedly. Zayn hates the barely concealed insecurity in his tone.

“ _Yes_ , really, Liam.” Bringing his hands around to cup Liam's face and thumb at his stubble. “It's amazing when you go nuts and get a thrill out of something. You have no idea what it does to me.”

“Um...” Pointedly, Liam looks down and wriggles his sticky fingers.

Zayn snickers quietly. “Okay, maybe a bit.”

They smile at each other, happy and stated. He's not sure how long it lasts, really. They tend to get lost in those moments. Liam dips forward to kiss him, then seems to think better of it. Holding it a disapproving noise, Zayn tugs him in and closes the remaining gap instead. They've made out after much, much dirtier deeds and there is nothing that will keep him from snogging Liam until he comes down from this high.

They trade lazy kisses for a while, smiling and humming affectionately against each other's lips. Liam drops any pretense and wraps Zayn's hip bone with his messy hand, drying come be damned. It's a lost cause, really, given how they're pressed against each other anyway. Their stomachs are already ruined, so what's a bit more, aside from a bit of cold, tacky touch? Liam's other hand doesn't stay still. It goes from stroking Zayn's cheekbone, to caressing his neck, sliding into his hair, toying with his fingers. Predictably, though, it ends up back on Zayn's waist, trailing tender touches up and down, wider and wider, until he's grazing Zayn's armpit with each upstroke.

“S'still weird,” he mumbles, pulling back when Zayn lets out a pleased sigh.

Zayn bites his chin chidingly. “Still don't care.”

“S'why I love you,” Liam admits, stepping back. He holds his arms out to pull Zayn with him, and they step away from the wall together. A coat hanger crunches somewhere underfoot, and they snort, giggling like naughty children. They kick off their shoes, toeing at socks and yanking their feet bare, all the while exchanging glances and chuckles. It's always been simple between them. The intimacy hasn't touched the friendship.

Zayn works both of his elbows in circles, one of his shoulders a bit sore from being stretched upwards for so long. He grins to himself and looks up to find Liam blushing, quickly dropping his gaze and chewing on his own lip. He only smirks harder.

“What?” Liam eventually cracks.

Zayn moves both arms against his sides, cataloging the feeling of spit versus sweat. “Now they feel different.”

“Oh my god.” Liam hides his face behind a hand, flushing harder. The light pink color that is not from the afterglow has spread to his chest. _Fascinating._

“Babe, that's okay,” Zayn soothes, reaching from him. “We're clearly headed for the shower anyway.”

“Yeah, we are,” Liam agrees, prowling closer. Curious at the change of demeanor, Zayn lets him come in. When fingers graze at his elbow, Zayn lifts his yet unexplored arm without waiting for the nudge. He lets Liam have it, do what he will. One hand falling to Zayn's waist naturally, Liam leans up to kiss his arm. He mouths languidly down from the side of the elbow, worshiping tattoos and scars with his lips and kittenish flicks of tongue. Traces a line of kisses down to Zayn's armpit and presses his face in, bringing his arm um in a loop around Zayn's chest, holding him close.

Zayn yelps out a giggle when Liam hauls him off his feet that way, even though parts of him expected something like this. He's laughing as Liam marches them both into the shower half dressed, giggling happily against his skin.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is all because of this: tinyurl.com/lp4g5b4


End file.
